While they were thus expressing their conjectures in
regard to the character and intentions of their guests,
and inwardly determining to sell their lives as dearly
as possible if attacked. Ephraim Giles had risen from
his seat in the corner of the chimney, and with his eyes
fixed on the stick he was whittling, walked coolly out
of the door, and sauntered down the pathway leading to
the river. But if he had calculated on the same indifference
to his actions that the Indians had manifested towards
the boy, he was mistaken. They all watched him keenly as
he slowly sauntered towards the water, and then, when he
had got about half way, the chief suddenly springing to
his feet, and brandishing his tomahawk demanded in broken,
but perfectly intelligible English, where he was going.

"Well, I want to know," exclaimed the soldier, turning
round, and in a tone indicating surprise that he had thus
been questioned--"only goin over thar," he continued,
pointing to the haystacks on the opposite side of the
river, around which stood many cattle, "goin I guess to
give out some grub to the beasts, and I'll he back in no
time, to give you out some whisky." Then, resuming his
course, he went on whittling as unconcernedly as before.

The chief turned to his followers, and a low, yet eager
conversation ensued. Whether it was that the seeming
indifference of the man, or his promise of the whisky on
his return, or that some other motive influenced them,
they contented themselves with keeping a vigilant watch
upon his movements.